It Takes A Village
by Lady Charity
Summary: To kill a man. In which Izaya understands love and is destroyed because of it.
1. Chapter 1

She could have held him, but she didn't.

Instead, she looked around the cold, dark flat, counting the streaks on the walls as she sat with clenched hands. But when Shinra didn't lift his head, she held up her phone.

_It's not your fault._

His eyes moved to the white screen, a wan smile dried on his lips. When he looked back down, she occupied herself with the grumbling static, the sting of lemon detergent, and her shadow clouding the tiles. This was not a hospital, but their home.

"I could have…" and his hands flew to his temples. "Well, it's useless now. I wish I never told him."

_That had nothing to do with it. And if it did, then it was my fault too._

"Oh Celty, don't say that. You were involved by accident." A helpless laugh escaped him. "He was my best friend. I can try not to think about my fault—maybe say that we are all meant to ruin each other in the end anyway. People, I mean. But if there were a way to change him back to good, I'd do it."

Celty did not like Shinra sad. Nor did she like lying to him. So she said what she thought was best.

_To change, Izaya would have to be born another person._

What she meant was that Izaya Orihara changed back to good could not be Izaya. That whether or not Shinra had helped make him, he could not be unmade. But to her surprise, Shinra unlocked his fingers with a look. It was a look he had when he found sago instead of milk tea in his cup. It was also the look of an idea.

_What?_

But Shinra did not look at her phone. His eyes shined behind his glasses. He touched her shoulder, laughed, and touched it again. "Don't be alarmed, Celty. I know what you meant." His voice bounded in high spirits.

_But what did you understand?_ she would have asked, if he weren't holding her hands and humming. It wasn't long before she changed her mind and rested against his shoulder. This was like any of the other nights they stayed in because of rain, curled together with wet cups of ramen. He would talk and fall silent, and she would listen to both, and then she would understand him.

There had been many rainy nights. She had gathered that he was a strange man.

* * *

><p>Mornings always meant something special to Izaya. He enjoyed making his bed by rolling in his blankets before squeezing out. He enjoyed the sunrise from his windows, though he'd never say that aloud. And he enjoyed breakfast—natto and frozen oranges. Yet all that could be done away with and he would still wake up pleased.<p>

Because mornings made him feel special. All those people would wake up, conscious of their blank slates and understanding to a degree the concept of Anything Might Happen. Izaya was different, however. He knew those slates weren't blank. They each had stains and spider cracks that lasted and kept his work running. People simply turned their slates over and proclaimed Anything Might Happen.

But Izaya had an idea of what those tragic Anythings might be. It was as fantastic as being able to read the future.

Namie had left the manila envelope on the kitchen counter as always, and it was thick. With a flick of his thumb, he opened the flap and poured a stack of papers next to his natto. What futures might he play with today? He smoothed the page on top, which Namie had prepared for him the night before.

Itinerary

12/06/11

_Phone Calls:_

_Shinra called to set up lunch with him. Preferably the coming Sunday. I've already said you will, so call if that was a no._

_NTT Docomo called to see if you'd care to switch your monthly plan to bimonthly. I've also renewed your free texting plan._

_Mairu and Kururi have both called you separately. Apparently they think it's urgent._

_Tasks:_

_12:03 PM: Pick up your reward from Mr. Saxe for duty completion-mailbox_

_4:37 PM: You owe Kiku AF3 information [see attachments] concerning Francis. Meet at Otome Road, near the manikins_

_8:30 PM: Tipoff to Mikado when he's heading past Seibu_

_Issues:_

_Shizuo has taken your dry cleaning when you called me to bring your dinner. I do not know where it is._

_Reminders:_

_Place 50000 yen in envelope if you want groceries_

_Father's Day in a week_

With his flick blade, he broke through the rind of a naval orange. A few drops rolled into his tea with a hiss. Well, he'll have lunch with Shinra. It had been a while. Maybe hotpot? It took too much effort to call, and he had other things to do. Like call a babysitter for his sisters.

As for the dry cleaning, Shizuo could do what he wanted with the load. He had an endless number of jackets just like the one he lost.

Hnh. So Namie had a sense of humor. Father's Day had as much to do with him as Valentine's Day. Both were superfluous. He loved humans _every _day—why set a day apart for one person? At least he was consistent. Then again, he should be forgiving. Humans never were. Or they always were. Consistent, that is.

Then he grinned wide before spooning slippery natto in his mouth. Oh yes—Father's Day! It was special after all, for his eyes strayed onto the reminder concerning Mikado.

The tipoff would be quiet, almost an afterthought. Just something short—he had most of it prepared the week before. Kida had been easy—Izaya had already convinced him that his father wanted to meet on Father's Day. Celty had mentioned the boy's anguish to Shinra, who let the information drop to Izaya. Kida had so many emotions; it thrilled Izaya to watch them battle, as if each was a separate person. Once he passed Mikado a certain note he still needed to prepare, nearly everything would be ready. He had guarded Anri's secret enough. Her brutal past, Kida's passionate need to protect others, Mikado's hopeless puppy love and fierce need to prove his bravery…it might be his best yet.

He had a few guesses of how things might turn out. If he wangled it properly, Mikado might even mistakenly think that Kida and Anri's father was one and the same person. That made him giggle. It was splendid fun to toy with Mikado—he always was the stupidest of the bunch. No wonder he liked him so much.

With breakfast done, he figured he'd run by Mizuho Bank and pick up the money Namie wanted. He could have given her his bank numbers, but she would be spending it all on gifts for her brother. Granted, the money wouldn't make a difference, but the one thing that irked him was being deceived. He wouldn't be, but it would appear to be. And Namie would think she was deceiving him and gloating about it, though he knew—knew before he had given her the numbers.

Besides, he was hoping that Shizuo would see him. To be perfectly honest, he was bored, and a little running might be the best thing after breakfast.

Hopping off of his stool, he reached the door in three bounds, felt the credit card in his back pocket, and twisted the doorknob.

Then he kicked the bucket.

Actually, it could hardly be a bucket. A wooden pail, more like. It was large, nearly as tall as his knees, with a lid. Izaya bent down. Was this Namie's idea of lunch delivery? He rapped the side of the bucket.

The lid jostled.

Three theories immediately came to mind.

This pail held his reward from Mr. Saxe, delivered early. It was possible he couldn't find the pail was from an enemy, and if he didn't move he was going to have his face blasted pail held his lunch.

With a shrug, he brought it inside, closing the door behind him. If he must have a gaping hole in his face, he'd rather acquire it privately.

Nevertheless, a thrill ran through his fingers as he touched the lid. So strange, so strange. He was sure he would have predicted an event like this before it happened. He brought his ear close to the pail. There wasn't any ticking. Just the shifting of the lid again.

"Tada," he said, and opened the pail.

He leapt back, upsetting his stool, with his stomach twisted. Small curled fists and thin eyelids flashed in his mind when he blinked.

Miniature corpse, well, he didn't expect that.

His foot wouldn't stop tapping the floor. Once the first cold wave ran through his body, he lifted the lid, ready to cap it closed and toss it in the closest dumpster.

Wait.

Something dead wouldn't have jostled anything. Not if it was human, anyway, and he was only afraid of human death.

He peered into the pail. The baby yawned—its mouth fleshy like an oyster with its tooth pearl—and turned around. A tuft of its black hair was mussed from sleep.

Very, very slowly, Izaya extended his arm into the pail. He gingerly poked its cheek, almost touching its nose. The hand darted out immediately when the baby turned, blinking at him. For a few seconds, they stared at each other. Then, with a disdainful sigh, it turned its back to him and continued snoozing.

Izaya's eyebrow rose. Now _this_ was interesting. An abandoned baby was an unwanted baby, and an unwanted baby was usually a secret. Already, his mind ran through the possible fathers and mothers who would throw away a healthy child, and to _him._ What person would ever give a child to him? Unless that was a hated baby. Maybe they expected him to torture it, or kill it. Maybe they expected him to use it in his plans.

Lucky for the kid, Izaya had another annoyance. He disliked meeting expectations.

Just as he was marveling his guest, the eyes opened again. Izaya turned his head this way and that, trying to figure out that feeling. It was a strange feeling when he looked into those eyes. There was this instinctive desire to run away.

That's when he realized they were reddish brown.

He glanced back at the itinerary on the counter.

_Mairu and Kururi have both called you separately. Apparently they think it's urgent._

Well, it certainly wasn't his. And his parents were too busy to have lunch with each other, much less taste the fruits of matrimony.

Huh. Mairu was strong-willed; she would have killed anyone who touched her. As for Kururi…she was pretty. That's what some of the boys said.

He dialed his phone and waited, studying the baby's round face for dominant traits.

"Moshi mosh. Mairu? It's Izaya." A pause. "Yes, _that_ Izaya. Tomorrow's a lucky day. So lucky that you two should have lunch with me. Mmhmm. Well." He poked at the baby again. It yelled out angrily as he held the phone in front of its face. "Yes. In fact, there _is_ something I'd like to discuss. See you, lovely Mairu!"

* * *

><p>Mikado felt bad.<p>

Everything was fine until she arrived. It had been the perfect time to enjoy the sunset with two of your best friends; just when the sun bubbled orange and the buildings began to set shadows on baked pavement. Thin gauzes of sweat hung from the curves of their chins as the metal bench burned their thighs. And in his hands was the perfect complement: a waffle cone topped with a generous scoop of strawberry ice cream.

But how could he enjoy the ice cream if Celty was there, with clearly no cone and no mouth to devour it? With her being clothed in sticky black leather and the weather a stifling 33 degrees Celsius, it was like eating a sandwich in front of a starving child.

"Yo Celts, aren't you dying in that suit?" said Kida as he gulped down his first chocolate cone and moved on to his second. "Isn't there a way for you to eat some ice cream?"

_Dullahan are a little stronger when it comes to the heat. And we are often lactose intolerant._

Mikado's eyes bugged out. "Really?"

_No._

Kida roared with laughter. "Celty can't even taste anything! I was just asking to be polite."

Celty inclined her head to Mikado. _Go ahead and finish what you started. I won't mind._

Mikado mumbled a few words before nibbling at his cone. Finally, he said, "Well, how are you doing, Celty? And Shinra? We haven't talked to him for a while."

_It was like any other day. He seemed to be very happy about a new idea. I don't know what it is. But if you don't mind, I'd like to warn you._

The trio grew solemn. Kida scratched the back of his neck, and with a cheeky grin, said, "All right Celty. Let's hear it. What does Shinra have in mind for us."

_This has nothing to do with Shinra. Three days ago, I was driving near the north side of Ikebukero and I noticed an argument between a woman and a taxi driver. She had long dark hair and she was holding a bag of groceries in one hand, as well as a few portfolios in another. The taxi driver refused to let her out of the car because she had forgotten to bring enough money for the tab. He couldn't understand how she could buy so much bitter melon and soybeans and not have enough money for the way home. Apparently, she had forgotten. _

_I stopped to help her pay the fee, and he nearly kicked her out—they were both very angry. Before I could leave, the taxi driver sounded his horn and gave me two things that had slipped out of her portfolio. He said that if I'm to help that forgetful person, I might as well finish the job and return them to her. I would have returned them immediately, if she hadn't already left. So I looked at what they were. One was a receipt to Mutekiya. Another was a photograph._

She reached into her sleeve and pulled them both out, handing them to Anri, who gasped. Mikado peered over her shoulder and managed to glance at the photo, one of a girl standing in front of a man with a white face and eyebrows like arrows. Anri flipped the picture over, but it was too late. The leap in his heart confirmed to Mikado that the girl was indeed Anri. Much younger, thinner, with a blank face, but Anri nonetheless.

"Wait, I didn't see it," said Kida, who took the photo from her hands and turned it around again. "Huh, isn't that you, Anri? Who's the guy?"

Anri continued to stare at the picture. Her hands were shaking.

Kida quickly placed the photo back into her hands and kneeled in front of her, a look of concern in his eyes. "Hey. It's fine. It's just a picture. Okay."

The photo had fallen near Mikado's feet. The man stared back up at him, with glasses that mirrored Anri's and the same thin lips. His arm wound over her shoulders, his hand dangling just above the swell of polyester.

"Oh, wait, here's the receipt." Mikado bent down and fished it from underneath them. He scanned down the types of ramen. "Celty. Celty, look at this!"

Celty looked over at the small line of print at the bottom.

"Namie Yagiri. This was her credit card, and she wouldn't be carrying around photos of Anri."

"You know this woman?" shot Kida, who had tried giving Anri a one-armed hug. "Is she a Dollar?"

"No, but her boss is," said Mikado, the anger biting in his throat. "What does Izaya have planned this time, Celty?"

_I don't know. But I don't believe he's fond enough of Anri to keep a photo with him or with his secretary._

"He wouldn't do that if it were his own children." Mikado shook his head. "He meddles too much." Pulling out his phone, he punched a few numbers in and waited.

"Tell him I'd like to sock him," said Kida cheerily.

"He's on the phone with someone else," said Mikado, discouraged.

Anri stood up. "It's fine. I was being silly. Don't worry about it."

"C'mon Anri," said Kida. A lazy grin pulled at his lips and stopped cold before reaching his eyes. "We said we wouldn't lie to each other, not if we can help it. And if you want to think of it the noble way, whatever he's planning against you he's planning against us."

"No one should have had that photo." She wet her lips. "Especially when I'm wearing that ridiculous sweater."

"But you're beautiful. Beautiful! With or without the sweater," said Kida, relieved at the smile cracking across her face. "Anyway, we should pay him a visit on Sunday, since I have a group meeting for some project on Saturday. His place is comfy. We might be able to steal a few of his spoons."

_Is that necessarily wise?_

"We'll go during lunch," said Anri. "Bring a bottle of champagne and make him spill." She picked up the photo and tucked it into her pocket. "It might not be wise. But it might as well be fun."

"That's my girl," said Kida, ruffling her hair.

* * *

><p>A stain of red touched Kururi's cheeks, but it was only the wooly glow of her scarf—not at all the proof of a lust-driven, sadly mistaken young girl. He studied her, shifted his gaze to Mairu, who stared pointedly back, and then back at the baby before them. The baby opened a sleepy eye.<p>

"What _will _you name him?" said Izaya, shaking his head.

Kururi studied the baby, straightened the sallow green ruffle that hung around the crib [Izaya figured it would provide dramatic effect to the charge inside]. "What a sweetheart."

"Eh? Sweetheart is not a good name for him," he said. "Perhaps you should name him after me."

"Look at him, so strong," said Mairu, when she weighed its chubby arms.

"Very handsome," agreed Kururi. The baby smacked its lips of sleep and shot a demanding hand to Izaya. The milk clung steaming on its glass as Izaya took the bottle from the hot plate.

"We should name him Shizuo," said Mairu.

"Oi!" Izaya swung the bottle away from the stubby fingers. "Why would I feed anything with a name like _that_?"

"You'd probably choke him," said Mairu, ladling the baby into her arms. Kururi took the bottle and brought it gently to the baby's mouth.

No sign of guilt—he was too familiar with its effects on the human body—or anxiety. Only his twin sisters gathered around the baby, catching drops of milk before it seeped between its chins. And why the name Shizuo of all things? The baby had his sister's eyes, not Shizuo's crazed ones. But they were right; it was awful strong. He remembered thinking as much when it refused to peacefully enter its crib. Oh God, if this bundle of fat was Shizuo's…

"You look as if you're about to be sick," said Mairu coolly.

"What can you possibly see in Shizuo?"

"So strong," repeated Kururi, with a barely suppressed giggle.

"But if he was our baby, you wouldn't hurt him, would you? Even if it has a little Heiwajima blood…" said Mairu.

The baby squashed its face against Izaya's chest when he took it back. "You know how the chemicals work," said Izaya. "Just a drop of Heiwajima makes Orihara explode." He moved to the window, floors and floors above the sidewalk cracks.

When neither sister spoke, he cranked open the window. Below, the drone of traffic churned on gravel. They could barely make out the sparrows shrilling above the roof.

"Do stop," said Mairu.

"What a draft," said Kururi.

"What good liars!" Izaya closed the window, tucking the baby under the crook of his arm. "Well, let's just see which little sister this baby looks like more."

Standing alongside them, he lugged the baby until it was shoulder height to him and his sisters. The black tuft that rose pointed on its head and the lips that twisted without its bottle made it look like a very angry baby bird.

"She looks like you," said Kururi finally. Her voice grew quiet enough to be sad. "Your eyes. Your face." She took the baby from him.

"She?"

"We were making fun the whole time," said Mairu. "Of course she's a girl. Look at her look at you. Only a baby girl could look back like that."

Izaya stared at the baby. She drooled.

"Little baby Iza," cooed Mairu. "Come here." She nuzzled the baby, and Kururi joined her, their sharp elbows like jutting bayonets. They smoothed her hair and touched the curve of her chin. Occasionally, they'd steal glances at Izaya and whisper in her ear.

Izaya breathed out slowly. It was strange, he noted, that his sisters stood like crumbling walls around that child, their adoration spilling into her lap. Here was a thing that didn't speak, that didn't know how to love, that wasn't theirs, and yet it received everything.

He looked at them look at her. Their faces were as soft as their mother's when she bent over her twin girls years ago. They had pouts like rubber and noses slippery with kisses, and when their mother cried for him to gaze upon her babies—'they're looking for you!'—he obliged. But baby Mairu's eyes were glued with sleep, eyelashes made two curves of tar. And Kururi stared at the ceiling, the fan lights flickering in her vacant eyes.

So how was he supposed to know it was a girl?

* * *

><p>They picked their way around the tracks of grime, paying no attention to the honking buses. The ramen for lunch filled their stomachs with knots, or at least, that's how it felt when they had left their brother. Of course it was the ramen.<p>

"I'm impressed," said Kururi.

Mairu glanced at her sister. The gymnastic hood rested against her bangs, so that her face was hidden twice. "Me too. He couldn't have made it better."

They both stopped walking. Cars swerved around them, throttling past their ankles.

"Oh Mairu," said Kururi, her voice breaking.

Mairu took both of Kururi's hands, and it was understood before they had reached to each other. Though they hardly bothered to mourn for the future, like many stupid persons in Ikebukero, they understood the loss that would come. They had felt it once before on a hot day—cicadas buzzing through the cloak of leaves, lunch boxes half empty save for wrappers and broken chopsticks—when Izaya never came back.

"It's the only chance he has," said Mairu. "And then he will come back to us."

"What a long, long time," said Kururi.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N I just realized I never made mention that I actually did NOT write this...this was my birthday present from my sister! She actually knew quite a little about Durarara!, only that I liked it, and she _d_idn't have as much of a fondness for Izaya as much as I did (understatement), and yet she did such an amazing job with this story...so please enjoy! I know lots of people are confused about this story, but it will all make sense...in due time!**

* * *

><p>It was a very delicate process—using a pair of chopsticks to check a diaper's content. But Izaya managed, sliding the chopsticks right between the white elastic and the fat bottom and tugged gently. He sighed, before disposing the chopsticks. No smell. Maybe he should give Namie a raise after all.<p>

The baby glared at him.

"Would you rather sit in your own waste? Be glad I'm even going to feed you. It'll be milk. Your favorite."

As the baby wouldn't stop glaring [it was uncommon for him to experience unwarranted hostility], he pulled the manila envelope and slid the packet of papers out.

Coupons attached for diapers and formula. Do not feed child sake.

"Congratulations, you've made it on my schedule on your first day. I'll just call someone to pick it up, because you are an _unexpected _guest. Unexpected guests don't usually have a place in my work."

Scooping the last natto in his mouth, Izaya left the baby and curled onto the sofa, his eyes fixed on the black and white pieces. There was Kida, protecting Anri from the knight, his pawn head barely reaching her wood neck. And Mikado, anxiously at the corner of the board, but with a power that the others had forgotten…

A shrieking wail cut through the room and shook the chess pieces. It was a siren made for the military, and Izaya found it necessary to run to the baby and lift it up. Once his hands curled around its chubby waist, it stopped.

Well, if it must be fed, then there was no choice. He popped the bottle into its mouth and counted to ten. It stopped crying and smiled.

"All right, you _stay here_ and…" the reproach pealed past his face and rattled the window panes as he set it back in the crib.

Now Izaya enjoyed his quiet, friends with shadows and a fan of white noise. How could he picture his loves' expressions and cries if there was a screaming water kettle demanding his attention? With a barely veiled sigh, he tucked the baby under his arm and returned to his plan.

Before he could lift the bishop, the baby lurched forward—Ikebukero upset by two fat fists—and several pawns tumbled to the carpet. Rook replaced knight, queen swayed and fell headlong across three squares, and the baby wound its fingers around the king. With the _pop_ of a pacifier, it sucked on the head.

It wasn't Izaya's nature to hurt someone directly, not like Shizuo, who had on multiple occasions whipped Izaya halfway up a telephone pole, but it was his nature to punish. Teaching shouldn't be too difficult, not when a baby was an incomplete human, essentially. So he lifted the baby up and brought it close to the desk lamp, a ripple of light dropped from its shade.

"Touch here," said Izaya, and he held the base of the light bulb. Thinking further, he presently lifted the shade off and set it near his feet, before grasping the base again. "Touch here," he repeated with wide eyes, tapping his fingers on the metal.

Without its shade, the lamp cast a brilliance around them both, calling the child as much as Izaya was commanding it. With gaping mouth, the baby brought its hand towards Izaya's; just a momentary angling of the lamp, and then a glorious howl vibrated in Izaya's ears. The hand shrank back, scarlet from the scourge.

"Yes, poor thing," said Izaya, giving two pats on the sobbing head. "Poor baby. It's very hot, isn't it?"

After a few minutes, while the baby whimpered, sucking on its fingers, and the pieces were set in its proper place, Izaya quietly said, "Touch here," and laid a hand on the chessboard.

He saw its hesitation, the recoil before the board—which must surely burn as well—and was about to congratulate himself when it reached out and placed a hand next to his. He stared into its face still blotched with tears, its eyes two pools of black. He took his hand back, unnerved.

Humans always trusted easily the first time, he knew that, but they never trusted fully the second time. When trust was broken, it was could not wind back. That was how love was to him—a chance that people feared, a chance that could physically be lost. But here was this baby, obeying as its hand still smarted.

_Uncommon stupidity_, Izaya noted mentally, as the baby happily proceeded to toss the pieces onto the floor. He leaned back and studied for a while, as pieces went one by one to pay tribute to the great pearl tooth. But even so, a baby was the beginning of a human. A human's stomach of love, of hate, of fear and disgust and all things glorious, must belong to the very thing from whence it came—its power already knitting into the baby's smooth, puffy brain.

And maybe humans sensed it too. How often he would switch on the television for the Friday evening news and see the story of frantic mothers, jostling for their missing two-year olds. Toss the fuzzy package out the window and the mother would be sure to follow it. Why hadn't he seen this before? It was only a theory, one that tickled his creative and brought him to wonder…but a good one nonetheless. Suppose the reason why humans showed the greatest love towards babies was because they sensed the source of love. Perhaps each baby was breathing of unpolluted love, for which anything could be sacrificed?

He abandoned his chessboard and surveyed the girl eyes with a new interest.

"I am glad you're here," he said, with a light flick on its nose. "I predict you will explain a great deal of things to me."

* * *

><p>"You call this cold?" said Kida. "I bet he'll throw us out of our house even with our Trojan horse."<p>

"It was a long walk, okay?" said Mikado. Kida had slung the bottle of champagne over his shoulders, and the trio walked through an alternating pattern of sizzling street vendors and department stores spurting cold against their shoulder blades. People with harried faces rushed across the streets before the lights would change, and they wondered whether the anxiety was caused by Izaya's schemes.

The elevator chimed softly twenty-eight times before it shuddered to a stop. Without further delay, Kida stalked up to the door and hammered on it, squinting once in a while through the peephole.

Though she appreciated what they were doing and had repeatedly bowed her thanks, Anri rather wished they weren't here. She wished they were dawdling time back at the ice cream bench or flipping through books of homework. The last place she wanted to be was at Izaya Orihara's home, handing him a bottle with which he could intoxicate them with.

But when the door swung open, intoxication seemed to be the last thing on Izaya's mind. "What do you want?" he asked shortly, the doorway barely showing all of his face. There was a smear of oatmeal on his left cheek.

"Didn't you get my text about a lunch date?" said Kida, trying to push himself into the room. "We're all here, and we brought refreshments!" Mikado shook the bottle anxiously, hoping the purple bubbles might entice him.

A tinkling sound came from the room. Izaya cast a glance back, and then said distractedly, "Say, what's today anyway?"

"It's Sunday," said Anri. "Day of rest, remember?"

"Eh?" Izaya pulled open his phone—they had never seen him so disorganized—and pressed a fist against his forehead. "Sunday! Lunch with Shinra…maybe I can reschedule." A wailing sound issued behind him. The trio started, surreptitiously putting up defensive stances. If Izaya was engaging into directly criminal activity…

"No, I'll never be able to reschedule," he said as if to himself. "This would be the fourth time canceling on him this month. Hey, would you come in a second."

Shocked, they could only nod and follow him into his flat. Izaya's clothes were scattered over the couch, two plaid stuffed bunnies were heaped in a corner, pair of chopsticks in what looked like a litter box, and a book opened to the chapter "Arashi Baby Care." Anri rubbed her eyes.

"Look, I'm late, and if you gawk so long, won't you be more of a country bumpkin than you already are?" Izaya slipped on his jacket and steered Mikado to a high chair. A big baby with matching oatmeal stripes and an otherwise clean bib stared at them. "All of you are lovebirds, aren't you? Why don't you take some time to practice childcare?"

"You don't expect us to babysit, do you?" said Mikado, voice high with incredulity.

"We'll do it," said Kida immediately, while Izaya shoved a portfolio into his backpack. "Does she have a name? It is a girl, right?" He pointed at the orange bow in the baby's hair.

"Namie's doing," muttered Izaya. "And her name is Moses."

"Moses is a boy's name," sputtered Mikado.

"She came in a bucket," Izaya said. Before he closed the door behind him, he added with a menacing smile, "Now be good, and don't go creeping about."

"Well, if he already knows," said Kida under his breath once the door shut.

_"Is _ that why we're taking care of her?" said Mikado helplessly. "For all we know, she could be Izaya's hostage."

They stared back at the baby.

"She is pretty cute," relented Kida.

"Let's start looking around," said Anri. She passed a spoon to Mikado, who carefully fed the baby. "Keep her occupied, in case Izaya has her trained in keeping an eye on us."

"Wouldn't be surprised," muttered Kida, but Anri was already yanking drawers open. "Yo, hold up a second. His bedroom is in the upper level…you really think he'll store his top secret stuff in the toaster?"

No lock in the bedroom; the door gave way soundlessly. Losing no time, Anri grasped the handles of the nearest dresser and pulled.

"Looks like we're welcome to enter, just not welcome to know him," said Kida, as they tried every locked compartment. And there was no point in looking for a key—each had a lock that required a password. "If I guess too many times, d'you think it'll blow up?"

Anri shrugged and swept her eyes across the walls and on the dresser tops, ignoring Kida's muttering and occasional tapping. Empty silver picture frames—polished and standing in pairs. On the dresser, a stack of invitations to a hot pot party, with a very solid blank after 'Dear.' And high school biology trophies with 'Shinra' and 'Izaya' engraved on them, also in pairs. Even in the dark, they glittered.

But when she passed over the thick down pillow, she stopped. Slipping into the pillow case, she pulled out a small, black book. Pushing her glasses up, she squinted, and gasped.

"Anything the matter?" said Kida, his tongue poking out in concentration.

"Turn the light on," she said. "He has a Bible under his pillow."

The light glowed on, dousing the room with a soft orange. "I never pictured Izaya the religious type," said Kida, glancing over it and rubbing his temples. "What _can_ the password be?"

Running a thumb over the gold lettering, she flipped open the book and was greeted with lines highlighted in gold. Carefully, she immersed herself into the lines, comprehending little, straying to the indiscriminant scrawl in the margin.

_…believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life…for perfect love drives out all fear…a new heaven and a new earth…__a faith and knowledge resting on the hope of **eternal life**_

It felt important. The weight sank into her palms, but the words made no sense. Why would Izaya care so deeply about stories of the Western world? Why would he care about being a good person?

But as she turned to the chapter index, her heart leapt. Isaiah. His name. A chapter about him.

Eagerly, she flipped to the chapters and poured over the lines. Destruction, fear…this book knew him well. But then lines marked with an ordinary yellow, as if he had lost his highlighter and needed a temporary replacement.

_Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no **compassion** on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!_

There was a distant pounding in her chest. The lines had pierced her mind and would not fade, though she scanned down the rest of the passage. And that same clenching feeling in her stomach, the very same that forced tears immediately to her eyes when the nightlight wasn't enough. The quilt pulled tight up to her chin, the rise of her breasts almost hidden in the covers…she would have five covers on, even in the summer. Her mother always stroked her hair and told her over and over, "There aren't monsters in your closet"—though she wished there were—and promised to look in later when her dear Anri was sleeping, just to be sure no phantom snuck out. But she always did forget.

Then, when cars no longer sounded and she heard the low chiming of midnight from the living room, she knew it was time. First the footsteps, gentle and far away. She remembered praying, until they were right outside her door. The door, so silent, and he was at her bedside, at the edge of the child he had borne…and she had become the mother, as his mouth came to her breast, free of the patterned gown. Rough and wet around the swell, then fingers clawing slowly down her stomach. His grip tightening when she whimpered. She lied obedient and still, but all along, her mind screamed MOTHER! OH MOTHER, THERE'S A MONSTER PLEASE HELP until he devoured her thoughts too.

"We should probably check on Mikado." Kida's voice ripped the darkness away, and she found herself staring once again at dull gold lines.

"Why?"

Kida looked towards her. "Moses has been crying the whole time." Suddenly, his nose was inches away from hers, his face pressed with apprehension. "Wait."

She pushed his hand away from her face. "Let's go, we can come up again. For all we know, Izaya won't be back for a while."

Moses was clambering over Mikado's back, snot dribbling on his hair as he managed to force one chubby leg around his babysitter's neck. Anri rushed over and detached the wailing baby, while Kida handed over paper towels. "What happened?"

"I have no idea!" said Mikado, blotting his hair with a pained look. "I was holding her over my shoulder, and then she started to go crazy." Outside, the clouds gathered with the smog of the city. Rain hurtled against the windows.

"It must be the storm that's scaring her," said Kida. He began to pull the shades down.

"Were you able to find anything?" asked Mikado.

Kida hopped over the couch and tugged down the largest shade opposite of them. "The whole room's shut down and barred. I bet he prepared for something like this…we couldn't find anything but a few crusty trophies."

"Kida," Anri said.

"You know what?" said Mikado slowly. "I bet we can try the Dollars' password or something. I know his username, and he's human. Who says he can't use the password for a lot of things?"

"Listen to me," said Anri. The boys turned towards her at the tone of her voice. "Open the windows again. Since Kida has been closing them, Moses has cried louder." When they didn't move, she added, "It's not the storm. I can feel it."

Exchanging glances of understanding, the boys wasted no time. Mikado picked up the closest kitchen knife he could find and backed up against Anri. He pushed her towards the wall that had no window, his arms taut against her own. Kida too took a knife, a grim smile on his face. They stared around the room, trying to listen past the raucous ticking of the clock.

She tried to swallow. What a smart baby. She knew as well as Anri did that the worst things were inside.

The torrent of rain continued to pound against the glass, and they instinctively drew closer together, their beating hearts forcing one loud staccato.

"Y'don't think it's Izaya?" said Kida. Moses buried her face into Anri's shoulder. Wetness soaked through her blouse.

"Can't be," said Mikado. He pointed towards the window. "He's taller than that."

Just a moment of shadow—how Anri gasped—before the glass pane crashed through with the screech of metal, a cloud of silver, and in stumbled a man, with glass chips tangled in his hair. Before Kida could hurl his blade, Shizuo Heiwajima straightened up, adjusting his glasses.


	3. Chapter 3

The trio stared flabbergasted at Shizuo, who mirrored their surprise. They could see it from his parted lips, the way his cigarette slipped through his fingers. It wasn't until he lifted his glasses and peered at them that Kida lowered his weapon.

"My lands, has he kidnapped you too?" Shizuo said.

"What," said Anri, "are you doing in Izaya's house?" Her voice was sharper than she had intended. Moses's nails broke through her skin as she clung to her, shaking.

"I would ask you the same. But first, where is Izaya?"

"Having tea with Shinra," said Kida, blinking a few times. "But we've got champagne." The joke fell and no one bothered to touch it.

Shizuo shook his head, his voice gristly. "I was told that Izaya had stolen a young girl, and I'm here to find her."

"Kidnapped?" said Mikado with disbelief. "That's gotta be a lie. We came up here, and Izaya just handed her to us."

He impatiently wiped the rain from his eyes, his dark sleeve dripping onto the carpet. "They gave me the right address to his house—they didn't lie to me on that. Izaya has stolen that girl."

"Who are they?" said Anri.

"I swore I wouldn't reveal their identities," said Shizuo. "And that is also unimportant."

"Well, the girl is right here," shrugged Kida. "She's sorta a handful. If Izaya actually kidnapped her, he's probably regretting it."

Shizuo permitted himself a short laugh. "So I take that the baby in your arms isn't yours, is it?"

"Her name is Moses," said Anri.

"Moses," he said, and a gentle smile rose on his lips. "You must be lovely."

He approached Anri and the baby, patting the soft black hair with his large hand. The action had the same clumsiness of an ape handling a doll.

"Moses, Moses," sang Shizuo. "What a precious thing you are."

Moses turned her head and faced Shizuo, her wide eyes streaming.

Anri saw his face pale dreadfully. A vein throbbed in his neck, and he fell a step back. "You must take the child away," he said. "Take him away, quickly."

"Where?" asked Mikado, blankly.

"No," said Anri. She held the baby tightly. "She is Izaya's. You are not to take her away." The gold lines flashed once more in her mind—the faces of the stuffed bunnies cajoled her to courage.

A spasm of pain flitted across Shizuo's face. He took another step back, his fingers shaking. "Save him, Anri! You must!" he cried.

"NO!" she yelled at the same time he shouted, "STOP ME!" Kida slammed against Shizuo, who had leapt forward, snarling. Together, they slammed against the floor—the wine bottle swayed and fell with an almighty crash, staining the walls crimson. Shizuo's eyes, dots of unfocused pupils in holes of white, fastened on Moses, who screamed hysterically. A chair and a tower of books tumbled to the floor as they fought—Kida's panting ripped dry and painful into the air.

"Keep her safe!" cried Mikado, throwing the knife aside and rushing to Kida's aid. Anri ran behind the couch, trembling, with no idea of what else to do. Helpless to help, helpless to hurt…and friends with the man who wished to harm her…it was always like that.

Shizuo's foot struck Kida's jaw with a cracking sound, and Kida slumped against the kitchen counter, senseless. With the furor of a beast, he flung Mikado halfway across the room, and he turned.

The flash of lightning threw his features in sharp relief—his mania evident in the way he moved. Jerking muscles, a low rattle in his throat, as his eyes pinned her to the wall. Mikado's knife, too far under the couch, Kida's knife, useless in his fingers. And that same helplessness that chained her returned. Her father coming towards her, with his bony fists and the same manic grin. Her mother very still on the floor. And she sank into a ball, her head held protectively over Moses. He threw himself at her.

Then something collided against Shizuo, and the couch rumbled and groaned from the impact. With a hiss, Izaya angled his switchblade, his eyes cold on Shizuo. Slowly, something like relief set in Shizuo's face. Squaring his shoulders, he stood up and smiled.

They didn't bother circling each other; they knew each other's every split decision, every vulnerability. But before Shizuo could attack, Izaya spoke.

"You're not leaving? I'm shocked."

"I relish these moments," Shizuo said. "Are you afraid?"

Izaya quietly placed himself between Shizuo and Anri. "I'm afraid I've underestimated you."

"Most people do," said Shizuo, and his voice finally rang with his old self.

"I should never take you by what you say again. You hate violence, yes? I do too. It's a shame Mikado is bleeding. A shame that Anri is crying, and a baby scarred. Oh, Shizuo, don't you know your own evil? Kida cannot stand."

As if against his will, Shizuo slowly looked around the room, his eyes resting on Kida's broken form. A quick intake of breath, and there was fear in his face. His gaze darted between the trio, and his lips moved wordlessly.

"Get out of my house," said Izaya.

As if with a mind of its own, Shizuo's face smoothed out to complete blankness. Calmly, he opened the door, paused as if teetering with his indecision, and left.

"Anri. Look at me."

Anri lifted her eyes into his red ones, and he studied her for a moment.

"You kept her safe," he said. He lifted Moses from her shaking arms and held the baby against his chest, his hand cupping over her black locks.

Once freed from the weight of the child, Anri rushed over to Kida who groaned and waved away Mikado's frantic ice pack. As they exclaimed over the condition of her friend, she snuck a peep back at Izaya. He was holding Moses carefully, staring into the gray sky, streaks of blue breaking through like rafters.

A mixture of envy and longing spoke to an ancient part in her.

He had come back.

* * *

><p><em>The sky cracked into gray plates, suspended in the promise of a glorious blue. Shizuo, wiped the blood from his mouth—it stung of metal on his tongue. Everything ached, and though he didn't fear pain, he would do anything to ignore it now. Because each sore on his muscle must have meant that contact was made. <em>

_He descended down the subway, stood as the only one on his side and surveyed the people across from him. He was glad they didn't know him. For who knows how many other people had Izaya's eyes? Or his voice? Or whatever else? If they reminded him anything of Izaya, like that baby, he would have killed them. How he feared himself. It _was _a shame._

_When the train roared past, he wept. _

* * *

><p>In the weeks that followed, Izaya was as normal and cheery as he ever was. He replaced the windows with the kind that shattered into knives if broken. He collected awards and bandied taunts to everyone. He woke up to natto and oranges.<p>

But sometimes, when his mind still wandered in the maze of dreams, he would find an opening. An opening where Moses had clung to him, crying into his jacket as he hoisted her higher. He hadn't tried, but she was comforted. It wasn't as if her presence in his dreams gave him pleasure. But he found that he breathed easier.

If he were to really understand humans—he reminded himself—he'd best study Moses better. It came to his mind that she might love as impartially as he did. Didn't all babies do that? Take the baby and have her born from a different mother—the child would love and need that person regardless. It fascinated Izaya that something so young might have grasped the necessity of loving impartially. It had taken him years to learn that.

But what was that love? Moving aside his chessboard—he had never bothered arranging the pieces back—he flipped open his computer and logged into his Dollars account. Moses crawled to his lap and looked with him, her bottom high in the air. He put a distracted arm around her, scanning down the posts, before she wriggled out of his grasp. Finally, he entered a post of his own.

**Kanra:** Hey, I can't help but wonder. I think a lot of us start wondering this when someone important has arrived on our doorstep. What does it mean to love someone? Are we born with it?

With a half-smile, he waited. This should be interesting, if not informative. The screen lit up.

**Han:** Love is just a commercial to sell people cheap stuff that no one wants anyway. And if we were born with love, we wouldn't need all those love magazines on how to do it better.

**Seiya:** Love is a machine that—

Izaya scrolled down quickly before Moses could see.

**Nadaka:** Love is liking someone a lot a lot a lot a lot. Hey, if you ever read this [and you'll know who you are], just want to let you know that I think you're super cute. I'm in your economics class, and I sit to your right. We should go out.

**Sayori:** Love is a word for choices that go against human nature. An excuse really.

**Nino:** Love? Love is mad.

Izaya laughed aloud. So Shinra's suspicions were correct. He was insane after all. Lying on his stomach, he faced Moses with a grin. "There is no point in pretending with you, is there?" he said. "You're too stupid for me to deceive." Moses swatted at his face.

"It's all right," he said. "I've talked to many people. They are stupid too. It's the mad ones that have something worthwhile." He giggled. "It's the ones in love that have something to hide."

But before he could say more, Moses crawled towards him. She brought her face very close to his. She studied him with her round, red eyes. He found himself caught in rings of carmine, with pupils reflecting his pointed face. And then he was struck with awe and an odd sense of fear. For he had suddenly realized that her slate was truly blank. And that Anything Might Happen was a truth, vested in her nothing past and making endless her everything future. But what did she see when she looked at him? His slate was not blank.

Before he could dwell in his nakedness, Moses's face became very serious. She reached her small hand out, and the warmth of her touch skimmed his sallow cheek.

_Yes, Moses?_

There was no mistake in her face, heart flung wide open. His face flushed under her fingers, and he fought himself from pulling away.

Sunlight fallen in the gutter, she loved him. Loved him impartially, with everything she had. How could love come so naturally to a baby, when he hadn't yet grappled with the elementary?

Only the truly stupid could know more than he did.

* * *

><p>The restaurant was as cold as the bites of sashimi. It occurred to him that this was perhaps the best meal he had in weeks [he had done most of the cooking, as he couldn't bear thinking of Namie simultaneously changing Moses's diaper and preparing dinner], and so the fish and sushi were devoured, resting in a bed of acid vodka.<p>

On the table were a few leaves—their fleshy veins etched in vibrant green—because he didn't wish to crumple them in his bag. Moses had been stripping his jade plant of its leaves, lifting the translucent wings up to his ceiling lights. His carpet spotted with patches of light tinged with green, and she would gaze with wide-eyed wonder.

He shifted in the vinyl-covered booth, folding his hands under his chin. Celty inclined her head, the platter of saffron sushi in front of her untouched. She was worried, he could tell.

_I heard from Anri that you are caring for Moses._

If she didn't eat any of that, he'd take them home. It occurred to him that Moses could squish them like putty, spreading them on the counter like she did with the mashed peaches.

_Izaya, are you listening to me?_

"What answer did you expect me to give? If I don't feed her, she'll annoy me dreadfully. So yes, I am taking care of her."

She distractedly lifted the mug of vodka. Set it down again.

_I've never seen you like this before, Izaya. _Before he could speak, she patted his plate consolingly. As if it was his arm or something. _No, there is nothing wrong with being different from what you were. I am only observing._

"I haven't changed since you've known me," said Izaya. "I only choose to show different parts of who I already was." He snatched a sushi roll from Celty's plate, tossing it into his mouth with a wayward smile. "Do you miss me already, Celty dear? Afraid that I might not be who I was?" Celty raised a hand to her mouth, as if sharing a quiet laugh.

_How old is she?_

"Shinra guesses her to be a little over a year. I thought she was older at first; I think she talks in her sleep." He chuckled. "Only in her sleep, of course. Otherwise she yells and coughs and sings." Simon set another mug of vodka in front of Izaya. A cloud of steam spilled from the cup's lip.

_Who is with her now?_

"Namie is watching her today. She'll be leaving this week, so I might as well use her the best I could." He folded his napkin long-ways, and then long-ways again.

_Would I be able to see her, Izaya? Does she look like you?_

With stuffed mouth, he said, "We'll probably be at home on Wednesday, so you can feel free to stop by. Maybe an hour before dinner." His eyes lowered to slits. "She's cuter than you Celty, sweet. You won't be jealous, will you?"

Instead, Celty pushed her platter aside. It was the same gesture his father made at dinner when he told him his cat had died. He was five, and he merely cut deeper into his steak. Powdered it with ash pepper when he was offered a new kitten by next week, and it can have white paws like the last one. They're all the same after a while…cats.

_Please listen to me before you respond. Listen to everything. _

He felt something harden in his chest. "Go ahead."

_You must give the child up. Moses is a beautiful child, I am sure, but do yourselves both a favor. You are not meant to have her. Give her to me, and let her go before you fall too hard._

He set his chopsticks down, tilted his head in a show of mock seriousness. "Do explain, Celty." Her shoulders rose in an agitated sigh.

_I can't. But she will hurt you._

As if Celty cared about that. "That would make you happy, at any rate," he said.

_It would not. And think how you will feel. Think of her. She's just a child that—_

He thought of her when he forgot that he wouldn't. Unbidden, he felt her arms circle around his neck, her breath light and warm on his neck. It was times like these that he was frightened. For when a human is fearfully loved, he could only long to love back. It was a proven science.

And how human he was. How he hated it, and wished for it more. For though he was human enough to want, he wasn't human enough to love her back. No matter how much he had put himself in her—held her when the night roiled thick and hot—he felt if he were lying. There just simply wasn't enough of him to love her.

Celty must have seen those things missing. She wanted to save the child, like Shizuo. The thought drew a bitter taste to his mouth.

"I am thinking of her," he said, his voice grating. "You can't know what I'm capable of, Celty." He shrugged his jacket on, swept the leaves into his hands. "I deeply apologize, but it appears that I am late." Without another word, he left, the door tinkling mournfully behind him.

For a few long minutes, Celty sat in the booth. She pulled out her wallet, but she found it necessary to set it down, resting her helmet against her palm.

_Izaya, you are underestimating yourself. I know you can. _


	4. Chapter 4

"And listen, he rips the package away—like _this_—and you should have seen that lady's face! The package, like, explodes, and all these bras fall out. Lacy ones, man, _lacy_!" Kida fell back on the couch cackling as Mikado whacked him with one of the dark gray pillows.

A thick, bubbling smell of lamb and cilantro soaked the room. No laptops, no folders and envelopes today…only bowls coated with sesame sauce and swirled with oil. Anri jiggled Moses on her lap, coaxing the ladle out of her grasp, while Kida speared two chunks of pork. Long white mushrooms slid into the broth when Mikado cleared the cutting board with a sweep of his hand.

"Who wants tofu?" yelled Kida, as little browned cushions floated between mushrooms.

Four hands shot up, Kida's included. As he scooped a piece in each bowl, Anri called out kindly, "What about you? You've hardly eaten."

Izaya looked as if he were caught doing something embarrassing. Taking a step from his corner, he cleared his throat. "Ne, I don't stuff my face."

"This is hot pot," said Kida with a roll of his eyes. "Stuffing your face is why this sort of dinner was created."

"We're already eating all your food. You should probably stop us," said Anri. Though she had wondered often about the picture of her dad, none of them had mentioned it again. Father's Day came and went, Kida's fear of his father's visit disappeared when no one arrived, and nothing had changed in Izaya's room. Except a few soiled tissues and a blanket pricked with elephants.

When Moses laughed and stretched out her hands, Izaya obliged, lifting her into his arms. "Ai, you shouldn't be at this hot pot party," he complained. "You're getting so heavy."

"Namie's a good cook," said Mikado, chewing thoughtfully. "I'm surprised you're so thin."

"What would it matter if Namie was a good cook?" said Kida with a slap on Mikado's head. "We're the ones cooking in hot pot!" Mikado blushed furiously, spilling a few drops of soy sauce on the throw pillow.

"Country boy…this must be nothing for you. You can slaughter a pig and hot pot in its stomach!" Izaya said, though his face was relaxed and teasing. The freedom to taunt melted Izaya's discomfort, and presently, the party settled to odd snatches of conversation, interrupted by chewing and choked laughter.

"What is it?" said Kida more than once during the party, in a voice low enough only for Anri to hear. But Anri shook her head and settled deeper into the couch. How could she explain how she felt to him?

They handed each other bowls, threw food at each other, grasped each other's shoulders when the laughter hurt their stomachs. It was something close to peace but perhaps a bit deeper. If she closed her eyes…and she did so, hesitantly until the warm glow of the room melted through her eyelids…she could see a family. A dream family, the one you'd forget upon waking, yet left with something inside you filled. And in the middle of it all was Moses, passed from one to another like the communal ladle, filling their ears with her laughter.

* * *

><p>When Izaya received the call, he had promptly closed the phone and stood up. "I apologize, Mr. Hisaishi, this deal is closed," he had said, though the waiter had only then handed them their menus, and strode out of the restaurant. The night air pressed swelteringly against his nose; headlights beaming a heady pattern of white hot arcs. He forced himself against the walls of perspiring bodies, swearing under his breath.<p>

The couch was flipped over, the blankets thrown onto the floors and tracked with Kida's sneakers. The boys opened one drawer after another—Kida had a phone wedged under his cheek, he was speaking furiously.

"I've contacted all the Dollars," said Mikado. "I'm so sorry, Izaya, we were too tired. We called you the moment we found out." He scratched his head in distress, his hair still spiked from sleep.

Izaya caught Anri's eyes. "Well?"

"We found this," she said breathlessly, handing him a crumpled piece of paper.

In a familiar script, black and tired:

_I'm sorry._

His breath stopped as all thoughts rushed through him. Mikado and Kida, sleeping on the floor, their hands folded and Kida's cap hung over his eyes. Anri on the couch, her glasses askew, with Moses snoring on her stomach. And a tall man with dark glasses, returning through the door, quietly squeezing dead his cigarette and lifting the sleeping girl into his arms. Enflamed by hatred for him, maddened by her eyes.

"Hell no," said Izaya, and broke out of the room, the trio rushing behind him.

His feet pounded on the stairs as he wound from floor to floor. His legs strained, for he refused to go down—Kida yelled after him—oh no. He was going to go to the roof and hunt for Shizuo Heiwajima. He heard Anri slip with a gasp, the sound of falling and the spinning of glass—but he only climbed faster. He was going to seek him through the dots of light and the racing cars, he would find him if he was still haunting Ikebukero, and then he would kill him.

He should have known. The world had warned him and all he did was replace a window. Well, he wouldn't make that mistake again. His hand caught the smooth bone of the handle—the flick blade shot out gleaming. Swinging to the last flight of stairs by the hold of the rail, he wrenched open the door and stepped once again into scorching night.

But he couldn't approach the ledge. Someone else was already there, facing the world with his arms lifted.

And then he heard her cry a thin, thin scream. His blood stopped dead. For Shizuo was not only facing the world—hundreds of meters below his feet—but he faced it with a child, helpless in his arms.

Deliberately, Izaya dropped his knife. It hit the cement with a resounding _ping_, and spun towards the black shoes. He turned at the sound, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"You've finally come," said Shinra.

There were times in Izaya's life that unreality descended upon him and made him immobile. He became a living eye when Shinra, in his white lab coat and familiar, long hair turned, rocking Moses against him. He could only look.

"Breathe, Izaya." Nervous laughter. "You're worrying me."

Broken fragments rang in his ears. _Toss the fuzzy package off the building, and the man would be sure to follow it._

"What are you doing here, Shinra?" his voice was emotionless, unlike him.

"I've paid for my wrongs," he said simply. "I wanted to see you for who you were again. I wanted to see you fixed."

There was something desperate and strange in Shinra's face. He opened his hands in supplication.

"What wrong?" said Izaya. He forced himself to smile—it twisted on his face. Then a memory arose, and the taste of vodka bit into his throat. "Celty was trying to tell me something that one day."

"She said it wasn't my fault, and she said it was no good. But it _was, _you see, it was! I know what I've done to you, Izaya. My best friend has lost himself, because I had fallen in love. There was no longer anyone like my best friend. He chose to stare over the world, detached, and hoping to learn the phenomenon love without getting hurt. But you must tangle with love before you can understand it! You had to love again!" His lab coat whipped around his ankles, his hair risen with the stars.

"What are you talking about?"

"You were gone the day you decided to love on your own. I spoke to Mairu and Kururi about it-they agreed that your only hope to love was in this way. No one can love someone whom he couldn't understand. And though we wanted to love you, you couldn't love us. Because you wished to love us in separation from yourself. They've missed you, Izaya," and tears ran down his cheeks, "and it was my fault.

"But I've redeemed myself. For if there was a hope for you to love something—having been so broken—we needed something pure. We needed something as like you as I could. I designed her for you." Moses screamed in Shinra's tight grasp.

A mixture of fire and poison shot through his chest. His hand rose distractedly to his throat—he felt his nails dig underneath his neck. "Shinra, you aren't to tell me…"

"It's true! Oh God, it's true. This baby is a machine!"

His mind rose and fell in octaves, caught on the trio's footsteps as they opened the door and joined them. He concentrated his entire being into them, until he heard Anri's gasp—and then it was too much.

"Bolts and borrowed blood from the hospital. Weeks went by before I could design her correctly…I had you in my mind the whole time. How I saw you and knew you before you changed. If there was anyone you had a chance of understanding and loving, it would be yourself."

He took a step forward. "Did Shizuo know?"

"No. But I did," at this, Shinra's voice wavered before strengthening again. "I was afraid you wouldn't grow attached. I was afraid you couldn't put yourself in far enough. But the funny things about humans is that we love most the things we might lose.

"And that worked too. Mairu and Kururi wept much when they explained everything to Shizuo. When they told him of how you kidnapped her, and gave him your address. But they were mourning for you. Because before you heal, you must ache.

"Celty was against the idea. Blessed girl, she wouldn't tell you all, to protect me. She didn't want to see you enslaved to something unreal. And neither do I. You have learned to love, Izaya. Don't! Don't deny it! If I hurt her, you would suffer. I can read it in your face. But now you must learn to lose."

"Why?" and his voice shook, he hated every broken syllable, "Why?"

"Because she isn't real. But we can love you in place of her, Izaya, if you will let us."

"No." And when he felt the throb of his heart for the first time, he was enraged. "HOW CAN YOU DREAM OF PLAYING GOD TO ME? HOW CAN YOU WISH TO CLEAR YOUR GUILT?"

"Please, Izaya, understand—"

"Hell, Shinra." All things living in him broke cold and morbid. His words poured out taunting as Shinra winced."Because I couldn't _love _enough for you, because I didn't _deserve_ the sacred friendship of Kishitani Shinra, I must be _molded_ to your taste. What makes you think you can love more than I? You, who cared for nothing but a Dullahan? You, who loved her by lying to her! Is that what love is to you? Deceptions!"

"I am a _doctor_," said Shinra. He looked sickened. "You are my friend…you will thank me in the end. You must complete your healing and free yourself."

His friend walked to him and gently placed Moses into his arms. Leading him by the shoulder, Shinra led Izaya to the edge of the building, where the wind whipped against their faces. "Let her go."

Izaya pulled away from him. "She's only a child!"

"She's only a doll." Shinra held out his arms. "I can do it for you, if you'd rather. Izaya, no…wait, listen to me…PLEASE!" He cried, "Forgive me"—which never made it past the door once Izaya had pushed past him and shut it.


	5. Chapter 5

In the dead dark of his room, he bent over the book in his hand, his head bowed. The phone had rung hundreds of times—he had given it to Namie at the end. Namie was kinder than he had known her before—bringing his meals to his room for days on end, though he barely touched them. Tonight, however, he was alone in the house.

Moses's wailing echoed from the adjoining room, frantic and pleading. It plucked at his skin and made his stomach burn. He had to force himself to stay sitting. If only he were given a plague. If only he had learned by punishments or mercy or warnings or by the selfless sacrifice of a living God…but he had learned love through a lie instead.

The cries rose higher and higher, and he reminded himself of the mechanical activity in her limbs. The warmth from borrowed blood…the computer chip in her hollow head. He wrestled for his freedom, trying to inspire life in himself at the thought of Shinra's deceit.

Then he remembered her girl eyes, and how his dear Moses loved him. Gave all she had and thought he was whole.

He pulled himself from the bed, padded through the dark hallway until he came to her crib. She lifted streaming eyes at him and tugged at his shirt. His heart hurt enormously.

"I'm here. I'm here," he soothed.

But she was not.

* * *

><p>They wore garish sandals, as if the color might make him talk. They never wore bright salmon and orange, and he could imagine what they hoped he'd say. "Eh, trying to catch someone's eye? Colors to keep you from looking ancient?" But he was silent.<p>

"Thanks for having us for tea," said Mairu finally.

"We figured we'd look into you," said Kururi. Moses crawled around them, nuzzling their elbows with her nose.

The silence swallowed them.

"I don't have long," said Izaya. "What have you been doing?"

They exchanged glances at each other. "Same things as you, I suppose," said Mairu finally.

"I suppose." The tea kettle whistled. He stood up and crossed to the kitchen. He was exhausted from seeing no one. But exhaustion was his preferred state at the time. He wanted them to go away. He glanced at the clock—stayed for perhaps twenty minutes. What did it matter if he took his time? Placing the cups of tea on saucers, and then setting the saucers on the tray, he came back into the living room. Both sisters were sitting up primly.

"Where is Moses?" he said.

"What do you mean?" Mairu smoothed out her dress.

"Where is the baby?"

"You never had a baby," said Kururi.

Even the toys were gone. He sat down and sipped from his cup. Sipped it again. He was empty, after all.

* * *

><p>When Anri saw him, her heart sank. He had grown thinner, his sloping shoulders giving him a look of bones. She noticed the dark shadows under his eyes, and the way he didn't smile when he greeted her. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, but she made herself enter when the invitation was given.<p>

She sat down on the couch and he stretched himself next to her, staring at the floor. For several minutes, they listened to the whine of the fan

"Izaya, how are you?"

"I'm fine."

She glanced over at him—he looked like a portrait of himself. All ink and shadows and measurements. Almost uncontrollably, she said, "I'm sorry."

"They did what I do to people all the time. Is that wrong?"

"Don't lie to yourself."

He appeared not to have heard her; he turned his head and picked at a thread in the pillow.

"Shinra is worried about you. Mikado and Kida, they've been talking about you. They don't know what to do." When he didn't laugh, she was afraid there was nothing else. "But…" she took a deep breath and continued, "I'm not worried about you. Because you'll be fine. She told me you would be." Sweat dotted her forehead. "Moses told me that you'll be fine."

Izaya stirred. "Don't—" he began.

"She didn't want to leave you...don't look like that. She's so beautiful now, with hair down to her waist. She catches leaves in the fall and dances barefoot through the streets. All the…all the boys want to talk to her, but she laughs so much they don't know what to do. But that's not to say she doesn't have friends, because what do you think she likes best? She likes hot pot—" A helpless laugh escaped Izaya's mouth. "And so she has it every Friday, with all her friends. But you see, she can't have as much fun as she'd like, because she thinks of you." Izaya laughed and laughed, the sound croaking from his throat. He raised a hand to his face. "So she wants me to tell you that she misses you," and her glasses grew cloudy, she took them off. "But she's grown, so she must leave and live. And you must leave and live as well. She wants me to add that she loves you, Izaya. She is so thankful."

Izaya fell against her, his chest heaving in sobs as she combed shaking fingers through his hair. She felt his anguish rock his frame, his shoulders quivering as she held him.

"So thankful, so very thankful," she murmured, her voice breaking.

That there was love like this.


End file.
